


The Ballad of the Wolf and the Dandelion

by cherri, pansy_poison



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24130675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherri/pseuds/cherri, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansy_poison/pseuds/pansy_poison
Summary: Geralt is in his final year of college, majoring in history. His semester's grade depends on a ballad being written, something he has no experience in. Good thing the upbeat music major Jaskier is here to help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31





	1. Early Mornings

Whiskey. Fuck whiskey. Fuck alcohol, for that matter. It leaves you feeling on top of the world one moment then you wake up and vomit three times within forty-five minutes. Geralt may have taken drinking too far last night. But it was a celebration. He aced his previous assignment on The Ancient Period to 500 CE, which he thought would be his failure of the semester. Apparently that was as hard as these assignments got, so from here, Geralt was quite confident. 

But the hangover he had right now, as he stood in a hot shower at 8:30am, made him fucking despise his History major, and its early morning lectures. He got out of the shower and looked in the mirror. 

His honey eyes were blown and fierce, his lips pursed and square jaw clenched. He squinted at his light stubble. "I can go one day more" he grunted out loud, sneaking a glance at his razor. 

  
  
  


Jaskier woke up at 8 am, a little earlier than usual. His first lecture was at 11, and he wanted to go for a run before his day began. He ran his hands through his fluffy brown hair and got out of bed, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He drank a glass of water and left his dorm in sweats and a grey t-shirt, then stretched briefly in the hallway before exiting the building and starting his morning jog. 

Campus was almost empty so his run was unbothered and even gave him an opportunity to sit on the pavement and bathe in the early September sun. He caught his breath and appreciated the silence. He really loved college so far. His parents hadn't approved of a music major, but he was skyrocketing with success. He was a straight A student and was impeccably popular on campus for his songs, performances and his charisma. It was a very new experience for him, being bullied through high school for his flamboyance and love of music. 

Students were starting to appear. He checked his watch. It was 9:15; he should head back. He got up from the pavement, stretched once more and started his jog back to the dorms. He passed the agriculture building, followed by the science building, past the theatre and arrived at his dorm after running by the coffeeshop, which Geralt emerged from. 

  
  


Geralt sipped his coffee, squinting at the campus through his dim sunglasses. He growled low as he strode by the buildings. He managed to pull himself together to pop an aspirin and get a black t-shirt and jeans on before he left the dorms, even though he was wildly tempted to get into clothes from the night before. He even tied half of his white and grey hair into a bun while the rest lay carelessly on his shoulders. 

He walked to the History and Geography building, not that bothered about how people kept their distance. Perhaps it was his tall, broad build, or his ever-present scowl, or the fights he got into to protect his small circle of friends, but not many warmed to Geralt, and vice versa. He didn't need anyone and no one needed him. He liked things that way. 

He drank his beverage on his journey to the building, dropping it into the trash can as he walked through the revolving doors. He entered the lecture hall and sat in his usual seat. Yennefer was at his side, a good friend of his since he met her at his old work six years ago, summer after senior year. He considered her a sister. She was who he went to when he got into a fight with family, when he was beat up, when he struggled with his sexuality, and she was always there. 

"Rough night?" she smirked, reaching out and removing his sunglasses. "Actually, don't answer that." 

Geralt chuckled, low and gruff. "Mm, a celebration of sorts" he muttered, as he leaned over and took out his laptop from his bag. 

The professor entered and the class hushed as the lecture began. It was an introduction to minstrels and their invention of ballads in mid-eastern Europe. 

With ten minutes left of the lecture, the next assignment was announced. "As a more exciting and creative project, I want each of you to write a ballad. Your ballad must be a story told with a beginning, middle and end, rhymed with an ABCB pattern and extra credit if playable on a 15th century instrument. It will be due on the 4th December and will count as 20 percent of your grade for this semester. Dismissed."

Geralt was scowling. A ballad? A fucking ballad? He was livid. This was the last thing he needed today. He shoved his things back in his bag and stormed out of the lecture hall. Everyone stayed out of his way. Which is precisely what he wanted. 

He marched out of the building and started back towards his dorm. He'd hit the gym and take out some anger there. He walked past a large oak tree on a patch of grass, where music majors were playing their instruments. 

  
  


Jaskier had spent the morning eating breakfast with friends and getting ready for the day. After his run, he showered and picked a grey t-shirt, matching coloured shorts and a baby blue hoodie for the day. It brought out his eyes. He was now under a tree in the shade, tuning a lute, his favourite instrument. He liked guitar but it didn't have the same sound as a lute, nor did it bring as much attention. He spotted the enraged Geralt. He pouted as he watched him. Geralt was a student who was feared all across campus, although, Jaskier felt bad for him. He must be lonely. Jaskier hopped to his feet and left the percussionist and singer to their own devices as he skipped across the path until he was blocking the historian's way. 

"Fuck off, Jaskier" Geralt growled, his fists clenching as he looked the bard up and down in pure disgust and rage. 

Jaskier only beamed. Geralt knew his name? He was flattered. "Now, Geralt. No need for profanity. You look like you've had a bad morning. Lucky for you, I've just tuned my lute and will gladly play for you a short song for your troubles" he chirped. He swung the lute around to settle it under his chest, playing major chords with an upbeat rhythm. 

Geralt's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, until Jaskier mentioned a lute. A lute...a 15th century instrument. Jaskier was a musician and even Geralt had heard the songs he'd written. He reached out and grabbed Jaskier's wrist which stopped him strumming another string. 

  
  


"Do my assignment," Geralt ordered. "I need to write a ballad. You know how to do that. Do it with me."

Jaskier's eyebrows raised. A shot of fear went through him when Geralt grabbed his wrist, nervous he'd pushed things too far. But he frowned in confusion when Geralt spoke. 

He couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, I can see how _you_ would struggle writing a ballad," he chuckled lightly. He had control now. Geralt needed his expertise. "Still, I won't be bossed around. Ask nicely and I'll think about it." He grinned, noticing how the playful sparkle in his eye made Geralt all the more agitated. 

  
  


Geralt chewed the inside of his cheek, taking deep slow breaths to calm himself. "Will...you... _please_ help me... out?" he managed to say, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing himself for letting Jaskier have the upper hand. 

Jaskier beamed with delight, hearing the terrifying Geralt say the P word. "I will. I can't say no to you, sweet Geralt," he sang before that playful sparkle returned. "But I have conditions. You have to be nice to me, you must be seen in public with me, don't mock me, don't be stubborn and... buy me coffee every time we hang out," he finished with a satisfied nod.

Geralt clenched his jaw and huffed as he considered Jaskier's offer. A small price to pay to pass this semester. "Done," he agreed with a short nod. 

"Great! I look forward to this," Jaskier exclaimed. He checked his watch. "I gotta run to my lecture. It finishes at twelve. Pick me up outside the music building and we can start your assignment. See you later, Geralt." He winked and with that, he was running back to his friends under the oak tree to pack his lute back in his case. 

This would be a long semester for Geralt.

  
  
  
  
  



	2. Geralt Rivia, Monster Slayer

True to his word, Geralt was outside the music building at twelve sharp. He watched as a group of music majors, many carrying instruments, left the building. Jaskier’s mop of brown hair and inexplicably springy step was nowhere to be seen among them. Geralt let out a short exhale of mild annoyance; where was Jaskier?

Geralt’s question was answered about five minutes later, when Jaskier emerged from the building with his backpack flung haphazardly over one shoulder and his lute case clutched in his opposite hand. “Geralt!” he exclaimed upon seeing him, his face lighting up as though Geralt were a dear friend and not a near-stranger.

Jaskier hurried over. “Sorry I’m late Geralt, my professor wanted to discuss my latest performance, which she liked very much,” he said, not without a note of pride. “Here, hold this, will you?” Before Geralt could accept or decline, Jaskier placed his lute case in Geralt’s hands and started adjusting his backpack so it sat comfortably over both shoulders. Geralt could do nothing but wait as Jaskier fixed everything to his satisfaction and then plucked the case out of Geralt’s hands. “Thanks,” Jaskier said, his bright blue eyes flashing with a smile.

“’Welcome,” Geralt grunted.

“Now, let’s go sit over there.” Jaskier pointed to a bench shaded by a few trees. “And tell me more about this assignment.”

“The ballad has to tell a story,” Geralt said as they walked. “It should have an ABCB rhyme scheme and be playable on a 15th century instrument.”

“Ah!” Jaskier hefted his lute. “15th century instrument right here!”

“I know that,” Geralt said, somewhat defensively.

“Of course you do.” Jaskier grinned. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, dear Geralt.”

They reached the bench and sat down in the cool shade.

Jaskier removed his backpack and rummaged around inside it for a moment before pulling out a notebook and pen. “What have you thought of so far?” he asked as he opened the notebook to a fresh page. “Any idea what story you want to tell?”

Geralt was quiet for a moment. No, he didn’t have any idea. Geralt read stories, studied them. He was a history major after all, and what was history but one incredibly long and infinitely detailed story? Geralt adored how there was always more to learn about history, like a map that grows more illuminated the longer and closer you look. Geralt didn’t tell stories of his own though. He left that to the English majors.

“Not…really,” Geralt said.

Jaskier scoffed. “Come on now, Geralt. Give me something to work with here. I can’t just do it all for you. This is _your_ ballad; it should reveal a piece of _your_ soul.”

“I’d rather it reveal a piece of my passing grade,” Geralt said.

Jaskier chuckled, a smile washing over his face like a wave over a beach’s sand. Geralt was beginning to notice that Jaskier was _always_ doing that. Smiling, grinning. As if he saw some hidden joy in every moment that the rest of them couldn’t. It made Geralt feel something, and that something was…annoyance. Yes, that was definitely what it was.

“I’m helping you out here. Accepting my help equals following my rules. Even the brooding Geralt Rivia must have something he’s passionate enough about to sing a ballad on the subject.”

“You know my last name?” Geralt noted.

“We’ve had classes together.” Jaskier pouted. “Don’t you remember?”

Now that Geralt thought about it, he did have some vague memories of seeing Jaskier in a couple of his first and second year classes. General education requirements like math and English. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t remembered before; Geralt rarely socialized in class, with the exception of his few friends.

“A little,” Geralt said. “Anyway, I’m not going to be _singing_ anything. And I’m not going to bare my soul or whatever the fuck. I just need help writing a good ballad so I can pass.”

“A good ballad must be rooted in genuine emotion,” Jaskier said firmly. “Romance is almost always a good bet.” Jaskier waggled his eyebrows. “Does the grumpy Geralt have anyone special?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I don’t want it to be a romance,” he said, dodging the question, which had made a twinge of discomfort form in his stomach. Geralt had accepted that he was gay long ago, and was quite comfortable with himself, but he didn’t like discussing anything related to romance with anyone but Yennefer. He wasn’t ashamed; his sexuality just wasn’t something he felt like most people needed to know.

"Very well, hmm…” Jaskier cocked his head, studying Geralt. His eyes lit up. “I know! It can be an adventure story. The adventures of…” Jaskier deepened his voice and extended his arms in a dramatic pose. “Geralt Rivia, a monster slayer known across the kingdom for his strength and daring!”

A couple of students walking past glanced at Jaskier and giggled.

The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched upwards. Jaskier looked silly, but, well, it was the best idea so far.

“Sure, whatever,” he said. “An adventure story. I don’t want to be in it though. We’ll create a character."

“Nonsense, you’re perfect for the role!” Jaskier exclaimed. He put on the dramatic voice again. “I can just see you holding your gleaming sword aloft, triumphant over yet another slain creature of darkness. Royalty will praise you, peasants will tell tales of you, ladies—and gentlemen—will swoon over you!”

Geralt felt his mouth form a brief but genuine smile. He couldn’t help it—who the fuck said things like that? Jaskier was so _weird._ In a good way, Geralt realized. And the "gentlemen" comment had put him a bit more at ease. It seemed that Jaskier was cool with gay people.

Jaskier glanced at his phone and yelped. “Shit! I said I’d practice with some classmates in ten minutes. I have to head to their dorm. Geralt,” he held out his phone. “put your number in. I’ll text you and we can figure out when to meet again.”

Geralt did so while Jaskier shoved his notebook in his bag. He handed Jaskier his phone back.

“Must dash!” Jaskier said. “Farewell, dear Geralt!” He waved over his shoulder, already stepping away.

“See you later,” Geralt said.

Geralt got to his feet, but before he started to head in the opposite direction he heard Jaskier’s raised voice calling him. He looked up.

“Oh, and Geralt?” Jaskier was saying. He was walking backwards so Geralt could see his face. “Next time, don’t forget my coffee. I did say that one of the conditions of our little agreement is that you bring me some _every_ time we hang out.”

Jaskier winked, then turned around and hurried away with that distinctive spring in his step.


	3. Dorm Rooms

...And that's how the Baroque era was the game changer of music history. Alright, class dismissed. And don't forget, you each have a performing practical next Wednesday. Must include one instrument. Vocals will  _ not  _ be counted as an instrument," the professor said sharply before packing her things, leaving sooner than most of the students. 

Jaskier shut his laptop and tucked it in his backpack, retrieving his phone to text Geralt:

**Sorry. Lecture dragged on a little. I'll be out in a minute. Have my coffee (; -J**

Since last night, Geralt and him had been texting. It was mostly brainstorming for the ballad assignment, but Jaskier slipped some memes in here and there. Geralt never responded to them, unfortunately

"Jaskier! Meeting at mine tonight before we go out? You make pre-drinks fun," Ewa, a friend of his, beamed. 

Jaskier hummed in thought, looking up at the redhead. "Erm, maybe. I'm helping someone with a project today. If we finish on time, then you can bet that I'll be there," he assured her, holding her chin between his index finger and thumb for a brief moment. 

"Don't stand me up" Ewa warned playfully, leaning over to grab her backpack. "So who are you tutoring?" 

"Just a guy. A history student. Geralt Rivia."

"The scary Viking?" Ewa raised her eyebrows.

"He's not scary up close," Jaskier defended. "He needs my help writing a ballad for an assignment," he explained. "We plan to tell a tale of adventure, of love and loss, of cold winds and summer breezes, of beasts and heroes and--"

Ewa interrupted Jaskier's passionate tangent. "How much are you getting paid for it?" 

Jaskier furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. He was supposed to get paid? Eh, too late now. And he didn't need the money. No more than Geralt anyway. 

The two friends exited the lecture hall. "Anyway," Jaskier began, deciding not to answer Ewa's question. "It's going to be gorgeous and riveting. It will have the most beautiful chord progression with the most hypnotic melody," Jaskier swooned, his hands dancing delicately in the air as he spoke. He opened the double doors and his face broke into a painfully large smile upon seeing Geralt. 

"Gotta run, Ewa. I'll update you on tonight." Jaskier smiled warmly and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead before he hurried over to the white-haired man. 

Geralt raised an eyebrow as he approached. "Hope you like cold coffee," he huffed out. Jaskier winced and took the cup. 

"I know, I know. I'm truly so sorry, dear Geralt. I am. The lecture wouldn't stop and Ewa wanted to talk to me and I can't just say  _ no _ . I'm so sorry," he said sincerely, placing a hand over his heart. 

Geralt's expression didn't change. 

"It's alright. It happens," he responded shortly. But, it was enough to bring a big smile to Jaskier's face. 

"Come on, we can go to my dorm to work. My roommate takes night classes and sleeps through the day," Geralt said, jerking his head in the direction of his residence.

He was already turning and walking away, so Jaskier jogged quickly to catch up with him. " _ So _ , after all the ideas we got last night, I've got some lyrics written out and ready to throw your way. You can say yes or no or  _ gods, no _ . Whichever you think is suitable,” Jaskier beamed. 

"Hmm." Geralt took a side glance at the colourful character beside him. He wondered how someone had so much serotonin in their body. "So you have a girlfriend," he pointed out bluntly. 

Jaskier squinted and his lips parted in confusion. "What? Oh, Ewa? No, nononono, no. We are just friends. Always have been, always will be. Gods, she's beautiful. Truly. But too much of a sister to me, Geralt," Jaskier explained, grimacing at the thought. 

Jaskier followed Geralt into his dormitory and upstairs to Geralt’s small flat.

When they walked through the front door, Jaskier immediately started looking around, his eyes bright and excited. He always wondered in what conditions the scary guys on campus kept their dorms. But Geralt's was almost spotless. 

He was impressed. 

Jaskier squeaked when a hand grabbed the backpack on his shoulders and he was practically dragged away from the hallway and into a bedroom. Geralt's bedroom. 

The walls were grey, like everyone's, but they had posters of European heavy metal bands, Roman and Greek gods, anatomies of medieval weapons and some sticky notes of due assignments stuck around the gaps. The room was very...Geralt. 

"Oh this is  _ perfect _ !" Jaskier exclaimed, which got rewarded with a hissed "Shut up," from Geralt. 

"But this room tells me everything about you without you having to say a word. It's fantastic," he doted, gesturing to the walls. 

"The lyrics, Jaskier?" Geralt sighed, trying to bring the musician back to Earth.

Jaskier spun around and sat next to Geralt on the bed, after peeling off his backpack. "Right! So, I have a few different samples of the verse and chorus that I want you to see." He smiled bright, leaning down and rooting through his backpack. 

He placed his work into Geralt’s lap. Geralt sighed and rubbed his temple. "Jaskier?"

"Yes?"

"Why the fuck are these samples written on napkins?" 

Geralt held up the four napkins and looked at his partner, rather accusingly. 

"Oh! Yeah, I had a burst of creativity over coffee this morning, in the cafe. I had to write my thoughts down immediately," Jaskier explained with cheer. 

"Couldn't have used your phone or laptop?"

"And what's romantic about a phone or laptop?"

"Hmm."

"Fine, don't appreciate my work? You don't get to have it." With that, Jaskier snatched his lyrics back and shoved them in his bag. 

Geralt's fist clenched. 

"Okay, let's relax. I'll teach you how to write your own words. Alright, grumpy? The key to lyrics, especially in something as spectacular as a ballad, is depth," Jaskier explained. 

Geralt frowned. "Depth? In what?"

"In anything. It takes practice to find depth but you will get it. Like...like look at me," Jaskier encouraged. Geralt did as he was told.

Jaskier leaned in a little closer and took in all of Geralt's features, how his eyes moved, his mouth, every callous, every discoloration.

"I see...that you don't trust. Your eyes follow wherever my eyes go, you don't trust my actions. I see old bruises and scratches from...fights, maybe? Your anger controls you more than you control it--"

"Watch it, Jaskier," Geralt growled, his eyes fierce and his mouth in a thin, straight line. 

The musician's hands shot up defensively. "Relax, I meant nothing by it. But do you see? Depth." He grinned. "Wanna try?"

"Hmm."

Geralt leaned in now, squinting slightly as he examined all the details of Jaskier's face. 

"Okay...you were very sick when you were younger," he began slowly. 

"Yes! Yes I was, what gave it away?" Jaskier asked, his face resembling a child at Christmas. 

A small smile threatened at Geralt's lips as he spoke. "Scars here," he pointed to Jaskier's forehead. "Here," he pointed at his cheek. "And here," he pointed to his cheekbone. "Chickenpox scars, I believe. They look like they've aged with you but the scars are deep so maybe you had a bad case of them."

"Excellent, Geralt! You're doing fantastic." Jaskier hummed with glee. 

Geralt leant in a little closer. "Your eyes are...curious. Not fearful, not relaxed. Just curious. You're trying to wrap your head around me but you're…"

Geralt looked away from Jaskier's eyes and realized just how close the two were. Almost chest to chest. If Geralt moved his nose, it could brush over Jaskier's. 

"...struggling," he finished. 

Jaskier must have noticed too because his neck and cheeks had gone from porcelain to a rosy pink. 

Jaskier was the one to pull back, which gave them both a moment to compose themselves. "Very good Geralt. Great! Erm...here." He reached into his bag and gave him the napkins.

"Try to come up with your own words. You've proven you have the potential. But use these as inspiration," he rambled, faster than usual.

While Jaskier was fumbling and rambling, Geralt was frozen in place, staring at the brick wall. His eyebrows were pointed down and his eyes were wide. He grunted as a response to whatever Jaskier said. 

Jaskier began to hurriedly pack his things. Geralt might have commented about how Jaskier had only just arrived a few minutes before, but he was too distracted by his own thoughts.

"Right! Same time tomorrow? Great, I have to go, bye, Geralt!" Jaskier managed to say all that in one breath before hurrying out of Geralt’s bedroom and dorm. In the hallway, he ran a hand through his hair, trying to gather his currently incomprehensible thoughts. 

Geralt, meanwhile, buried his face deep in his hands. Where the fuck did that moment even come from?

Both men were just as intrigued, confused and terrified as the other. 


	4. The Napkins

Geralt left the napkins untouched on his bed for several hours after Jaskier left, choosing instead to go for a run around campus. The sensation of burning muscles, sweat evaporating off of his skin, and Swedish heavy metal filling his eardrums rarely failed to improve his mood. He pushed himself hard, focusing on his pounding footsteps and not on a pair of blue eyes and mop of brown hair. 

He was just starting to slow his pace and head back to his dorm when his phone chimed. It was a text from Yennefer, asking if he wanted to study for an upcoming test. Geralt replied in the affirmative, telling her they could study at his dorm.

When Geralt got back to his room he wasn’t surprised to see Yennefer already sprawled across his bed and taking her books out of her bag; she had a key to the dorm and pretty much came and went as she pleased.

“Shower,” he grunted at her as he grabbed some clothes out of his hamper and brushed a clump of sweaty hair out of his face.

“Don’t keep me waiting long!” Yennefer called after him as he headed to the bathroom.

Geralt washed off quickly. Much refreshed, he returned to his room to see Yennefer lying on her back and examining something small and white that she was holding.

“What’s with these?” she asked, grinning and holding them out. They were Jaskier’s napkins.

“Oh, those.” Geralt sat down on the edge of the bed. “Remember I mentioned I got someone to help me with my ballad? Those are some notes he left. I haven’t looked at them yet.”

“Why are they written on napkins?”

Geralt exhaled quickly in amusement. “I asked the same thing. Some shit about how typing things on a phone or laptop isn’t ‘romantic’ enough.”

“Your partner sounds like quite the character,” Yennefer said, looking back at the napkins. “And judging by these, he’s definitely the romantic sort.”

“What do you mean?”

“Here, read them.” Yennefer passed Geralt the napkins.

Geralt smoothed them out and read:

_Our tale is of a kingdom that once was mighty_

_once was safe, beautiful and prosperous._

_but then it fell to rack and ruin,_

_it was plagued by something monstrous._

_The creature’s teeth were as sharp as betrayal,_

_its eyes were fiery and its skin was green._

_It had a keen taste for the innocent,_

_it moved through the night like a secret, unseen._

_One night the creature had cornered another unfortunate soul,_

_Helplessly, the traveler could only offer a prayer._

_But just as the creature opened its jaws of doom,_

_it caught a glimpse of its foe suddenly there._

_This rival was a man, tall and broad,_

_His hair was grey and his eyes were fierce_

_He sprang forward on legs lean and strong_

_And the monster’s hide with his sword he pierced._

_The beast let out a howl as the stranger attacked_

_Not a chance did it stand against skill so great_

_Relentless, the hero struck blow after blow_

_Until the monster, defeated, succumbed to its fate._

_Who was this valiant and skillful hero?_

_Well if you must know, I’ll answer you well_

_For this man was named Geralt, the White Wolf of Rivia_

_And it is of his adventures that today I shall tell_

“Um,” Geralt said aloud. 

Yennefer was giggling. “The _White Wolf,_ ” she snickered. 

“Shut up,” Geralt groaned.

“Geralt, I never knew you fought monsters in your spare time, why didn’t you tell me?” Yennefer, still grinning, dodged a half-hearted swat Geralt aimed at her arm.

“We’re doing an adventure story,” Geralt explained. “Jaskier wanted the hero to be me, I said no, but he was...insistent.”

“Geralt Rivia, I’m telling you right now, you absolutely will _not_ do anything to prevent this man from writing an entire ballad about you, and you will _not_ prevent me from hearing it when it’s done. This is hilarious and I intend to enjoy it fully.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Can we study now?”

“Fine,” Yennefer conceded. 

They quizzed each other on vocabulary terms, something Geralt was usually quite good at remembering, but he found himself getting distracted. Distracted by the thought of Jaskier’s _stupid_ lyrics, and his _stupid_ smile, and the way his _stupid_ cheeks had turned a delicate pink when their faces had gotten just a bit too close, and--

“Geralt!” Yennefer drew out his name as she waved her hand in front of his face. 

“Ah!” Geralt startled. He glanced down at the flashcard in his hand. “Okay, which king decreed that--”

“Don’t care,” Yennefer swatted the card out of his hand. “What I wanna know is why you’re acting like a space cadet. You’ve gotten terms wrong that I know you know. Could it have anything to do with…” Her eyes traveled pointedly to where the napkins rested on the bedspread.

“What? Jaskier? I, no. Maybe... No.”

“Your face is red,” Yennefer pointed out.

“It’s not,” Geralt said. 

It was.

Geralt sighed. “It’s...he’s weird. He’s so happy all the time. Or seems that way, anyway. And he says strange things. He confuses me.”

Yennefer nodded seriously. “And he writes poetry about your ‘fierce eyes’ and ‘lean legs’.”

Geralt groaned. “It’s for an assignment, Yen. That’s all.”

“I don’t know...sounds to me like he might have a crush on you.”

Geralt couldn’t help but chuckle. “No way. I bet he dates music majors who are just as annoyingly happy-go-lucky and ‘romantic’ as himself. He’s only hanging out with me because he’s nice and wants to help. And probably because he didn’t want to say no to a guy four times as strong as him.”

Yennefer shrugged. “Maybe so. He sounds interesting, anyway. All three of us should hang out sometime, maybe I can get him to sing the ballad for me.” She smirked. 

Geralt was sure Jaskier would be only too happy to have any excuse to perform. 

“Well, I’m beat from all that studying,” Yennefer said, yawning. “Do you mind if I nap here?”

“Not at all,” Geralt said absently; she was already getting under the covers anyway. Geralt sat down at his desk and spread his work for a different class out in front of him.

He didn’t get much done.


	5. All Hallows Eve

Summer began to fade after a few more weeks and turned into a breezy, chilly fall. Jaskier's clothes went from shorts and vibrant t-shirts to skinny jeans and hoodies in soft shades of brown, yellow, red, maroon or orange. But his mood remained ever mellow, swooning with his friends over how beautiful autumn could be. He told his friends about Celtic Pagan harvest festivals like 'Lughnasadh' where villages would dance and sing from dusk to dawn and have mighty feasts and celebrate the new season. Of course, Jaskier didn't just have this information from thin air; a certain history student had taught him about it. 

" _Is that what Halloween is?" he'd asked._

_"No. That came further along in Celtic history. That's in October. 'Lughnasadh' is Celtic for 'August'."_

_"Tell me about Halloween history, then!"_

_"Another time."_

_"Promise?"_

_"Hm."_

Jaskier's friends, particularly Eva, were starting to grow suspicious of how much time Geralt and Jaskier spent together. She noticed when he came back from working with him, his cheeks were flushed or he was even happier than usual. However, Jaskier swore, hand over his heart, that he and Geralt were just working together. Nothing more, nothing less. And then he'd conveniently change the subject. It amused her. However, Jaskier was her friend and she wanted to make sure he wasn't getting involved with a bad crowd.

As time ticked on, Jaskier himself had grown to enjoy Geralt's company. Sure, it was stiff and sometimes he was a little _too_ direct. But most of the time, there was some joking between them, or "hm"s of approval of Jaskier's mystical poetry and storytelling twining into the ballad. Geralt was also incredibly interesting. He knew amazing facts about history and liked Scandinavian thrash metal and drank a lot of cold brew coffee. His eyes glowed with anger when Jaskier touched the fossils on his windowsill (Jaskier thought he was going to get punched) and when he tried to smile his mouth twitched upwards slightly and when someone made him angry his face twisted into a bitter snarl that gave Jaskier goosebumps. But he liked Geralt. He was always learning something new about him. 

On October 31st, Jaskier sat on Geralt's bed, finishing up their day's work. He shoved his laptop into his backpack and beamed at Geralt. "So, what are your plans tonight?" he asked cheerfully. "Are you dressing up?" Geralt looked at Jaskier with wide, mortified eyes then scoffed and looked back at his phone. "I'm going to a concert." 

Jaskier beamed. "Who are you going to see?" he asked curiously. 

Geralt gave him a side glance. "They're called Apocalypse Orchestra," he mumbled. "They're playing a few blocks from here at a good venue." He wants to leave the conversation at that. But he knew he had to do the socially respectable thing. He sighed heavily. "What are _you_ doing tonight?" he forced himself to ask with sarcastic enthusiasm. 

Jaskier's face lit up like a Christmas tree. "Well, I'm going to three parties. No dress up, sadly. But I was invited to three so I decided I'd spend time at each. Kind of like in the movies. _Buuuut_ I lost four rounds of Rock, Paper, Scissors, so I'm designated driver tonight which does ruin the mood slightly. But it's my duty as their friend to get them home safe and sound." 

Geralt said nothing. 

Jaskier finished packing his lute and slung its case and his backpack over his shoulder. He wished Geralt a happy Halloween and left the dorm. 

He made his way back to his own dormitory and went to the shower to get ready for the exciting evening ahead. 

  
  


Geralt, meanwhile, stayed in his black t-shirt and jeans for the night. At 7pm, after having takeout leftovers for a small dinner, he left his dorm. He met Yennefer outside the library and walked with her to the venue. 

  
  


Jaskier spent the night behind a steering wheel or in the corner at the Halloween parties, sipping soda and talking to whoever else was playing the night sober. It put a slight downer on his mood but he could tolerate it. Especially seeing how much fun his friends were having. That was enough to make Jaskier happy. 

After the last party, he helped a very drunk Eva to the car with the other three tipsy fools and made sure everyone was buckled up before he got in the driver's seat and started dropping off everyone at their dorms, making sure to walk the women up to their door for safety. 

Finally, Jaskier dropped Eva home and walked back to his dorm from there, since it was on the same side of campus. He chuckled as he saw freshmen TP'ing the Fraternity house. He loved Halloween. 

He made it home and found his roommate hadn't returned. Figured. It was only 11pm. Some parties were only just starting. Jaskier went to the fridge to see what he could make for a late dinner when his phone dinged. It was...Geralt?

_I'm outside your dorm hall. Which room are you? Urgent._

Jaskier frowned deeply at the text. He was worried. He hoped Geralt was alright. Why wasn't he at the concert or asleep or drunk somewhere? 

  1. _Take the elevator. It's loud but it's safe._



Jaskier waited by the door for three minutes, then he heard a knock. Well, kind of a knock, more like the palm of a hand slapping the wood. 

He swung the door open and Jaskier almost fainted. Before him, stood Geralt with blood running from his nose and onto his upper lip. He had a black eye, a bruised jaw and his lower lip was split. He was cradling his hand, where Jaskier could see that his knuckles were purple and bloody. He was breathing thickly. "Got a first aid kit?" he rasped. 

Jaskier speechlessly motioned for Geralt to come in and lead him to the couch, where Geralt sat down heavily.

Jaskier ran to the bathroom and found the first aid kit under the sink. He returned to the living room, where he found Geralt with his face in his hands. 

Jaskier sat on the coffee table so he could be closer to Geralt as he worked. He retrieved a bag of Caesar salad from the fridge and pressed it to Geralt's eye. "Closest thing we have to an ice pack," he apologized. 

He sat down again and got to work cleaning up the blood. "So what on Earth happened, Geralt?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he glanced from his nose to his eyes. 

Geralt grunted. "Some drunken asshole was at the show. Trying to start fights with random people. I got involved and knocked him out. He had a friend who wanted to avenge the drunk bastard so next thing I know, I'm in this full-on death match. We were kicked out not long after and continued outside. Things escalated. He pulled a knife on me--" 

Jaskier gasped. “Oh my _God._ ”Geralt waved at him dismissively. 

"I'm fine. He didn't use it because I told him if he tried, I'd snap his neck before he had the chance. I bruised him pretty bad at this point and he wasn't willing to risk it. So he booked it." 

Jaskier nodded as he listened. Something tightened in his chest the longer he looked at Geralt and his bruises. It hurt. It hurt _bad_. Geralt was a great person. He didn't deserve that. He deserved respect and kindness and love. Jaskier realized he saw Geralt as nothing less than the hero he wrote about in the ballad. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked, slowly. Geralt lifted his shirt. Jaskier felt ashamed for practically drooling over his toned body, especially when there were bruises to be taken care of. 

"Just some harsh blows to the stomach but there's nothing you can do about that," Geralt murmured. He looked up at Jaskier seriously. "Thanks for helping me out tonight. You told me a few weeks ago you live in this building. I didn't have enough energy to walk across campus. So thank you."

Jaskier shrugged and smiled. "It made my night more interesting." _Worrying, Jaskier_ , he thought to himself, _the word is worrying_. 

"And besides," Jaskier hummed. "Perhaps we can use this to write in the--"

"Let's not talk about the ballad tonight," Geralt murmured, using his hand to dismiss Jaskier again. "Talk to me about anything else that isn't Halloween or the fucking ballad."

So, that's exactly what Jaskier did. For hours, he rambled on about the music he loved and what made him choose this college. He talked about his family and friends at home, of summers he spent with his grandmother in the countryside, and Geralt actually _listened_. He would smile slightly here and there and ask questions, usually short yes or no questions, but questions nonetheless. He heard every dumb word that passed Jaskier's lips until 2am.

Jaskier was in the midst of talking about his favourite poem by Pam Eyres when he looked down at Geralt and found the history student fast asleep, the Caesar salad pack splayed carelessly across his cheek. 

For a moment, Jaskier watched him, how his broad chest rose and fell delicately in time with quiet snores. How his lips were slightly parted but smacked together a few times when his mouth dried out.

Jaskier was starting to realize something dreadful. Something inevitable and horrifying. He was falling for Geralt. 

  
  



End file.
